Remember, Forget
by hedgehogkween
Summary: In a semi-dystopian world in which the storage, deletion, and modification of memories have become commonplace medical procedures, a single doctor dubbed "memory surgeon" caters to those doomed to life in the city's slums. (Contains UKCan/CanUK/Mapletea/whatever-the-fuck-you-people-are-calling-it-these-days.)
1. Alfred

Chapter 1

If there is a feeling that could describe all of the worst things in the poverse world, all of the horrors of the working man as he wipes the sweat and grime off his brow only to realize that there's not a hope in the world of his escape from this life, as he looks up to the blackened skies and accepts that there isn't a single person who would notice were there one less disgusting man to show up to the construction yard or the factory or the soup kitchen one day, or the feeling that comes with looking down at the city you had once been taught to love before it turned against you, then that feeling would describe the city of Atros. At least, Arthur thought, is must describe it for somebody, because looking out on the poorer side of town from his lovely sky-scraping office he swore he saw one of these such men preparing to jump from a rooftop.

"How pathetic…" he rolled his eyes, stepping away from the broad windows and returning to his desk. His office was immense for the little furniture that filled it. There was a desk, a therapist's couch, and a few conversation pieces scattered around the shelves of his bookshelf. The room had to be twenty feet in each direction at least, wide, long, and to the ceiling, and he didn't fill half of it. He liked it that way. Made the room feel more open, he thought, open to new ideas. He might need the space for other things anyway.

As he took his seat, rummaging in his breast pocket for his ancient brass lighter there came a beeping from the little black call box on his desk, a sound he had come to both love and loathe. He huffed a sigh, put up his feet, and took the telephone from its resting spot.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked. He tried not to sound too interested; he wouldn't want the caller to think he cared or anything.

"Arthur sir, there's some woman here trying to get through to you." The voice of his peppy young secretary was, as usual, louder than he would have liked. He'd never liked the young woman and he didn't think he ever would, no matter how much coffee she bought him.

" 'Some woman'? Do be more specific Denise, is it the same one from last time?"

"No sir, she claims that she wants an appointment for her son. What should I tell her?"

Arthur mulled it over a moment, then smirked inwardly.

"Does she have insurance?" he asked.

"She says she does."

"Well then, why the hesitation Denise? Put the woman on the phone." He put on a smile, the sort of smile he would use were he speaking to the woman in person, the same plastic smile a politician would use to make a promise he would laugh about later. A few soft clattering noises reached him through the speakers and he put his feet back on the ground, leaning in on the desk and staring at nothing across the room. He listened, and in turn a little whisper of a voice spoke at him. He quirked an eyebrow and chuckled.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going to have to speak up, I can't hear a word you're saying." He glanced at his computer screen and nudged his mouse. The previously black display slowly chugged to life, showing him the woman allegedly standing in the lobby. She had marvelous hair that ran down her back in beautiful curls, ending just above the waist with not a knot or tangle in sight. An impressive feat, he thought, as the hair of the west-wall-goers was usually just as lengthy but braided or turned to thick, disgusting dreadlocks. _'She must live in the eastern side of town…'_ he decided. She cleared her throat, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers as she spoke.

"A-ah, oui, a-am I speaking to Doctor Kirkland?" she asked softly. He covered the speaker to let himself laugh a little.

"Yes you are miss, but I fear you may be in the wrong place. I'm a memory surgeon, not a voice coach." Teased the young doctor. She tittered softly, unimpressed by his attitude.

"N-no sir, I… I-I'd like to make an appointment for my son. H-he's had such trouble in school lately, a-and he's not eating, he hasn't been eating healthily in ages. W-we lost his father recently, th-they were so close, a-and well… I'm worried about him." It was at this point that she had to sit down. Judging by the grainy image displayed on his screen, Arthur thought she looked about ready to cry. He sighed, forcing himself to hold in another snide remark.

"Yes, of course madam." He spoke softly. "I'll tell you what, I've got an opening for about an hour coming up. Go pick your son up from school, bring him straight here. Don't tell him where you're going. I'll do what I can. You and the lovely young woman downstairs can discuss your method of payment while I'm looking at him. Does that sound alright with you, miss…?"

"M-Matthews." She finished. He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "M-Madeline Jones-Matthews. A-and thank you so much doctor Kirkland, I c-can get him right now."

"Ah, it's no trouble at all miss Williams." In the little screen she still looked teary-eyed, but she truly was smiling, her dainty lips elegantly tugged up at the corners.

_'My god she's pretty…'_ he sighed. If only it weren't for his profession, he might let himself pursue the pretty woman. "I'll see you back here within the hour then, miss Williams?" To his amusement she nodded, handing the phone back to the secretary and dashing out of the building without another word. Perhaps she didn't understand exactly how a telephone worked after all. She couldn't be a west-sider though, he refused to believe it; the west-siders didn't come that pretty.

"What was that about?" He cringed; Denise was talking again.

"Oh nothing dear. That woman is coming back in about half an hour. Set up a paperwork sheet for her, and when she returns send her son up to me." He glanced at the screen. Denise nodded as well, but she had her reasoning; she knew of the camera he had hidden in the lobby of their floor. With a few final, meaningless words of thanks, he hung up, once again putting up his feet and going to light himself a cigarette. He kept the desk clear of stupid knick-knacks for the sole purpose of being able to put his feet up this way. It contained little more than his clunky computer monitor, the matching keyboard, and an ashtray. Most of it had been there when he'd started using the place, probably the reason why every office in the building, for all of its new-age glory, looked like it had gotten its entire tech stock by raiding an elementary school. The monitor had to be at least an inch thick! Still, it served his purpose, and for his lack of high-tech gear he could usually get what he needed.

About thirty minutes and a third of a pack of cigarettes later, Arthur noted the lovely head of wavy hair bobbing onto his screen again, holding the hand of some skeletal creature protected only by a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that looked heavy enough on the poor thing to break its back. She and Denise spoke a little while, and then she sent the hoodie-clad person in the direction of the elevator. He stood and unlocked the door, both anxious and interested to meet Madeline's little spawn. Within a minute there was a knock at his door.

"It's open, come in dear." He called, wheeling his chair over to the side of the therapist's couch. In stepped the little hoodie monster. It was a boy- or at least, it looked like a boy- with stringy blond hair that hung over his face, some of it slipping behind his glasses and shielding his eyes from the dim light of the office. Despite the presence of his baggy clothes Arthur could tell he was thin, it showed in what little of his face could be seen. The boy looked around the room, a frown tugging on his pale lips. "Hello there dear." He greeted, trying to act cheerful. "Come right on in and take a seat." He patted the couch. The boy stared, making a face that Arthur could only interpret to be one of disgust before reluctantly sinking into the seat.

"May I ask your name dear?" he asked. The blond scoffed, crossing his arms.

"My name is Alfred." He muttered, brushing a little hair away from his eyes. Arthur stole a look at them and smiled; Cerulean, how lovely.

"That's a nice name. How old are you Alfred?" he asked, rolling his chair back to his desk and grabbing a clipboard, writing things down.

"Fifteen…but I'll be sixteen in a month, so don't treat me like I'm some little kid or something." He glared at Arthur. Arthur said and did nothing in response, putting on his friendly plastic smile.

"A wonderful age I think. You're in school, aren't you? What grade do they have you in?"

"Tenth, but they'll move me up after my birthday." Arthur looked up at this remark.

"Is that how they do it these days?" he asked, taking interest.

"It is at the crappy west-side schools…" Alfred pulled up his hood as if hiding in his copious folds of clothing would somehow make Arthur stop talking to him. "We do it by age. They don't have summer break anymore either, if you're that old, they just give us two weeks off as the beginning of every season."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's stupid." The boy snapped. Arthur quirked his eyebrows with almost sympathetic regard for the boy.

"Well, there are plenty of stupid things in the world Alfred, they just sort of spring up over time. I'm sure you know that much…" he chuckled. "Have you any idea of how memory surgery works Alfred?" he asked, looking at him and going to a drawer in his desk.

"No." Alfred sat up a little. "Nobody does. My science teacher says that memory surgery is the modern equivalent of hypnotism, that it's not real. He says that you don't really do anything at all!" Arthur lost his restraint with this comment, laughing so hard he had look out the window for a few seconds just to sober himself.

"Ah, what quaint notions… and what do you think Alfred?" he asked, finding what he needed and wheeling back to the boy's side. He could barely see it, but he knew Alfred was staring at him.

"What do you mean…?" he questioned.

"I mean…" Arthur started, going through a little black bag. "What do you think memory surgery is? Do you think that an imaginary art would be in the place of 'Most Commonly Performed Surgery Internationally' were it really no more than silly hypnotism?" he asked. Alfred blinked, slowly easing his way back down again, his frail back gracing the couch again.

"I… I don't know…" he mumbled. Arthur nodded, reaching into the small bag and handing to Alfred two little pills, one white, one red. Alfred accepted them but sat holding them for a little while. "What are these things?"

"Just swallow them dear, you won't need any water."

"But what-"

"_Just_ swallow them." The doctor repeated impatiently. Alfred held the pills, gulped, then popped them into his mouth and swallowed. They took their effect almost immediately; within seconds Alfred was glad he'd sat down, fearing he would have fallen over anyway. His vision was darkening, only the face of his surgeon remaining visible. A soft groan escaped his throat but Arthur merely shushed him, waiting until his eyes had fully closed to brush aside his hair. He almost regretted it; he could tell that Alfred would have a handsome face were it not for his being little more than a flesh suit over a boney body. His cheeks looked so hollow it was a wonder they hadn't caved in on themselves. Arthur pinned his long bangs to one side of his forehead, resting his hand on it.

"Now dear, don't you worry, this won't hurt a bit." He whispered, jokingly speaking to Alfred's now unconscious form. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and slowly worked his way into his mind.

Were anyone else to walk in at that moment they would have seen the rather horrific sight of the doctor with his hand _inside_ of Alfred's skull, eyes shut in concentration.

What Arthur himself saw, however, was very different; all of Alfred's life was spread out before him, not unlike being surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of cheap television screens. He walked through them, trying to identify a place to start. He couldn't go back once he'd started, not without excruciating difficulty and a frankly immense margin for error. He wandered back a ways. It became apparent to him why Alfred seemed so reluctant to talk to him, and why he was so thin. He stopped when he'd reached one particular scene, stepping into it.

The beginnings of the scene unfolded before him; A young blond boy- a few years younger than Alfred, though obviously still him- stepped into the tiny bedroom. Posters littered the wall, low in detail due to the age of the memory. Only the most important things were clear, and everything beyond the room was white space. A bed materialized, then a standing mirror, and a closet, the kind build straight into the wall. Alfred dropped his backpack by the bed and flopped down onto it, letting out a sigh. So far, Arthur noticed one major difference; rather than being hideously thin, this Alfred was actually a bit chubby. His belly was visible under his shirt, pale and puffy skin. He sat up, starting for his backpack but stopping to look in the mirror. It was as if he'd never seen his own face before. He stood and looked at himself, a frown slowly forming across his lips.

"Why do I have to be so fat…?" he sighed, looking down at himself shamefully. _Ugly, Stupid, Fat,_ different words seemed to whisper themselves to Arthur; the thoughts of poor Alfred as he stared at his mirror image in disgust. How sad it is, he thought, to see a child as young as this, no older than twelve and already hating himself for his mere appearance. The next scene was rather startling; Alfred was pinching his cheeks and belly, hard enough to bruise as shown when he pulled away his hands. Tears welled in his eyes. Arthur felt like he should have been doing something, instead watching in horror as Alfred punched his mirror with a loud crash and a thousand shards of glass were sent spraying in all directions, at least half of them making it into the boy's skin. He screamed, holding his now bloodied fist and picking out the biggest pieces with a trembling hand, all the while muttering to himself "stupid, stupid, stupid…" Arthur shook his head, wishing he could have been there. He rewound the memory a little ways. The glass returned itself into the mirror, Alfred's backpack flew back onto his back, and he was all but hurled out the door. He stopped the memory. It took him a moment to decide what to do here as he looked around the room, trying to pick just what to change. The mirror was his first choice. He turned it a tiny bit to the left so that it instead reflected the window, what would have been sunshine to Alfred. The bed was neatly made, likely the work of his mother, with a line of cheap stuffed animals arranged along the bottom ending in one rather large outlier bear. He set this bear where Alfred would flop down before starting the memory, watching it play out again.

Again Alfred jogged into the room, tossing down his backpack with a little laugh. He sat this time, hugging the bear and going to his backpack. He didn't even notice the mirror this time, kicking off his shoes so that they thumped against the wall and pulling his homework. Within a few minutes Madeline came in to check on him and brought him a glass of milk and a few cookies on a thin napkin. He took them, earning a little kiss from his mother and in turn thanking her with a peck on the cheek before indulging in her homemade sweets. Arthur grinned; he was off to a good start. He removed himself from the memory with a smile, glad that he'd done at least a bit of good. He stepped a year or two forward and chose another particularly miserable looking scene.

It looked to be about a year earlier; they were in a schoolyard, but it wasn't yet adorned with the one spinning structure that one child sat on while another few spun it until someone threw up. He knew that was somewhere recent. Alfred sat on the little curb separating the bark pit from the grass. To Arthur's delight he was looking better than he had been. Not ideal of course, he was still skinny as could be, but not yet unhealthily so. 'Lanky' was probably a better word. He was nibbling some sort of snack cake, something cheap and likely full of preservatives, the kind of things Arthur detested. The thing that struck Arthur as oddest was the fact that he sat completely alone where as the other children, although possibly a bit exaggerated by the seriousness of the memory, had at least three others sitting with them. He sighed, taking a seat on the curb. The other children repeated themselves, often doing nothing of much interest. Entire groups repeated occasionally, or in some cases it was simply a single child copy-pasted into multiple roles, casting Alfred into an obvious position; he was lonely.

"I know how that is…" Arthur mumbled. He knew how seriously children took themselves, even at the age of thirteen as Alfred appeared to be now, everything was so serious and real to them. In Alfred's case, he felt as if he was the only one without a friend in the entire schoolyard. "In their defense dear, it doesn't seem as if you're really trying to talk to them…" he sighed, scooting back a little and watching the memory play out. A group of boys approached him, five or so standing over him.

"Oh dear, I know where this is going…" he sighed; Alfred was being bullied, the classic predicament of the teenage child. "What next, I suppose they're going to call him a nerd and demand his lunch money? Maybe make him eat a worm or something else equally juvenile?" Arthur sighed. He'd seen this sort of things before, he knew how to handle it. Bullying was surprisingly rare in this form, for all of its relentless advertising. Even Arthur, disconnected from the school system as he was, knew that it was rare for children to actually be as brutish and stupid as they were portrayed. All the same these ones picked on Alfred a bit, calling him various derogatory names where 'fatass' would have done. After their barrage of sub-par insults one of the boy's punched Alfred, and another kicked him into the bark. Arthur mulled the memory over a while before performing somewhat of the same treatment, moving a few of the children, carrying Alfred's lunch bag under a tree so he would have to move, and allowing him to dodge the wrath of his pursuers without even knowing of their presence. Arthur stepped out of this memory rather unimpressed. It was ever so boring dealing with these particular memories. Almost oddly so, he couldn't remember seeing exactly these sorts before, yet he felt like he'd done this a hundred times.

He walked briskly through Alfred's memories this time, making to be done with him but stopping at one of the most recent screens. It was no more than an hour old by the looks of it, and it depicted another scene of Alfred being picked on. It was worse this time though, so he decided to take a look.

Alfred was practically running, trying to get away from some unseen fear that was apparently directly behind him. Arthur glanced back, a bit surprised to see one of the boys from before. Didn't they ever learn? Apparently not.

For all of Alfred's endurance, bless his heart, he didn't seem to be very good at running. He was unhealthy and sickly, and being thin as he was now it made his skin look pale and cold with sweat. The brute that had followed him had him shoved up against a wall, screaming a rainbow of insults ranging from typical homophobic slurs to taunts of his dead father. Alfred didn't even appear to have the strength to fight back. He took all of the larger boy's verbal abuse, sobbing and blubbering beneath him until the first punch was delivered and he collapsed. It was followed by a kick to the eye, knocking Alfred onto his side. The bully kicked him in the stomach, then did it again, and again, and again, until Arthur couldn't bare to watch. He shut his eyes, backing the memory up just minutes. He couldn't stand the sight of Alfred cowering before this jerky kid, screaming in pain without a soul in the world to help him. He paused the memory just seconds before the first punch was landed, Alfred's eyes shut in a cringe. Arthur approached him, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning in to whisper:

_"You don't have to take this you know…"_

Alfred blinked, hardly feeling the hit. He still fell, catching himself on hands and knees. The whole world seemed to move in slow motion as he processed what was happening. No… no, he didn't have to take this. He dodged the next hit, standing back up and giving the brute a shove. The boy spat another tease at him of course, trying to get him to back down, but Alfred snapped back with a threat to call the cops and stormed off. He looked furious, but Arthur could feel pride welling in him. He didn't have to take it, and now he _knew_ he didn't. For the last time Arthur pulled away, out of Alfred's head and back to his own body.

He slowly removed his hand, wiping it off on his shirt and panting softly to catch his breath. Alfred's skin had gone clammy again. He wheezed, coughing a few times as he returned to his senses. Arthur went to a drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of water, pouring half of it into a plastic cup and handing it to Alfred.

"Here you are dear, drink up. That's a love, go on now, it's alright…" he cooed softly, helping Alfred into a sitting position. His hands shook as he took the cup. His eyes were wide, and he moved very, very slowly. The process of memory surgery wasn't exactly meant for a boy his age- or anyone, for that matter, but especially not a fifteen year old anorexic- and Alfred was left looking worse than he had when he came in. Arthur was patient with him, urging him to drink his water and occasionally tipping the glass to get some through his parted lips. "How do you feel Alfred?" he asked, enunciating each syllable. For a while Alfred was silent, holding the cup and trying to steady his hands. Finally he looked up with a smile.

"I… I-I feel great." He murmured. The cup lowered slowly. Alfred chuckled, then grinned, then laughed and beamed up at him. "I-I feel absolutely amazing. I-it's like I… I-I don't… h-how did you do all of that? _What_ did you do?" he asked, looking at him. His cerulean eyes seemed to glimmer with a dazzling new light, wonder and joy and excitement for life, the things that Arthur intended to put there. He rumpled the boy's hair and allowed himself a chuckle.

"It was nothing my boy, just my job."

"No, no! You did something, I know you did! What was it? How'd you do it?" he demanded again.

"If you insist upon an explanation, I'll just say it's a trade secret." Alfred's face fell, but he smiled again quickly. "Now go along to your mother Alfred, she's worried sick about you. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you've been out for…" he glanced at the clock "…over an hour. Go show her this new energy of yours." He patted him on the back. "Heck, you two should go out and get a meal to celebrate. God knows you need it!" They laughed together. Alfred dashed out the door and downstairs, blond hair falling in front of his eyes again. Arthur shut the door behind him and returned to his desk, watching them through the screen again.

Madeline looked worried sick, pacing the floor and wringing her hands. She looked like she could cry again. Boy, was she in for a surprise. Mere minutes later Alfred ran in, throwing his arms around her waist in a hug. She jumped, startled, but turned to find that, to her surprise, her once moping little shell of a boy was lit with a new spark of life. She hugged him back, picking him up and twirling him in a hug and letting the tears roll down her cheeks, because they were happy tears now. They left, giving Denise a wave and dashing out of the building. Arthur sat silently behind his desk, grinning and watching them go.

"How nice…" he mumbled, standing and going to his window to watch them as they reached the street. They didn't have a car by the looks of it, and went a few blocks before making it out of his range of sight. "It seems as if these powers of mine can create happy endings after all…"


	2. Ivan

Chapter 2  
Over time, Arthur managed to separate his schedule into three types of days; Days he had off, days he met with new clients, and days he checked in on old ones. He much preferred the first two. They brought with them the promise of a new experience, a slightly less dull routine that meant he could learn a whole new person's insides and the secrets they held, or in the case of a day off it meant he got to bum around his home in slippers all day and sleep in. Today, however, was the third type of day. Today was a day on which he got to speak with a former patient of memory surgery. In his defense, he was still a bit different to Arthur's routine. He hadn't gotten his previous treatment from Arthur, he'd gotten it from an east-side doctor, and Arthur had never had the pleasure of treating a mental patient before. Currently he was observing the men sitting in his waiting room.  
One appeared to be there to help the other. The first was a little mouse of a man with disheveled, jaw-length hair and a crisp white doctor's coat, presumably some sort of assistant. Arthur didn't pay him much mind, for he wasn't nearly as interesting as the second man. If the first man had been a mouse, then the second was a cat. A large, lazy looking cat who stared off into space and whispered to some invisible presence besides his mouse. Arthur was especially fascinated when the man was led up to him. The cat's name turned out to be Ivan. He was enormous, the size of a refrigerator and not so different in shape. He wore a nice coat of clean, white linen, with long sleeves that wrapped around his back and clipped neatly. A collar rested at his neck, as well as a little bow tie.  
'Points for trying I suppose…' Arthur chuckled to himself. It was the first time he'd seen anyone try and make a straight jacket look classy, and Ivan was pulling it off quite well. His little assistant accompanied him in, leading him to the therapist's couch and sitting him down.  
"Thank you for bringing him in today, mister…"  
"Toris." The brown-haired man finished.  
"Toris, yes… and so this fine young man must be Ivan?" he asked, gesturing to Ivan with his pen. Toris nodded, glancing around the room. "Well Toris, take a seat and we can talk about his… previous treatment." Arthur scooted back a little. Toris gave a nod of conformation and opened his mouth to begin speaking, only to realize that there were no other chairs in the room besides the Arthur's and the couch. He hesitated, unsure of what to do at this small impasse, before gently nudging one of Ivan's legs aside and taking a seat at the edge of the couch.  
"Yes, about Ivan. He's, well… you read the packet I sent you?" he asked, reluctant to explain things again. Arthur wheeled back to his desk, rifled through a stack of papers, and returned with about half of them which were somehow staples together. Toris's description was rather… extensive.  
"I have a report on a mister Ivan Bragniskaya, age thirty-two, last weighing in at ninety and a half kilograms and one hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall, platinum blond hair, violet colored eyes, believed to be some form of mutation- not uncommon these days. A man of Russian descent, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of four, sentenced to the Atros City maximum security asylum at age six, placed under your care at age twelve, you have a record of every one of his imaginary friends starting at age seven, and this next page is a crayon drawing." Arthur read, holding up the packet to show a rather startled Toris that the next page of data had been replaced with a crudely drawn purple cat with Ivan's signature at the bottom. He stared, horrified, glancing accusingly at Ivan. Arthur turned back to the stack of papers and flipped through the various other crayon drawings until he reached one that contained actual data. He caught Toris looking almost upset with Ivan and cleared his throat to draw his attention back. "Don't think for a moment that it is any inconvenience to me Toris, I do enjoy the fine arts myself. Besides, we cannot blame the mentally ill for their afflictions. I rather like this one though, may I keep it?" he showed one drawing of a cyan rabbit with wings and laser eyes. Toris quirked an eyebrow but nodded.  
"I… don't see why not…" he mumbled. "I doubt he'll miss it…"  
"Wonderful." Arthur carefully removed the drawing from the packet, setting it on his desk. Ivan giggled softly and made an attempt to move his arms, not seeming to realize that they were restrained. "Alright, I've got the gist of his situation. So what's this other work he's had done? Another form of memory surgery, if I'm not mistaken?" he asked, turning in his chair so that he could lean on the back as if it were something more comfortable than a piece of plastic, like perhaps the top of the bar he intended to get wasted at later that evening.  
"Ah, well…" Toris hesitated, peaking Arthur's interest. "He had a memory block." Arthur sat bolt upright.  
"He's got a memory block?" he nearly shouted. "Are you kidding me? You bring this man here after he's gotten a block to get his memory changed? How long ago was it?" Toris cringed, crossing his ankles.  
"Ah… h-he was seven, if I remember correctly-"  
"Seven years old?!" Arthur felt like he could scream. "Who the hell told them it was alright to put a memory block on a seven year old boy?" He spun around, resting his head in his hands for a moment. It would still give him a lot to work with, twenty-five years of new information since the age of seven he could use. A memory block's name was little more than a simplification of its definition; you took a person's memory up to a point, often after a traumatic event or something similar, and built a sort of wall to keep them from remembering it and everything before it. It was the closest modern science had come to artificial amnesia, and it was illegal to perform one on anyone under the age of thirteen. That rule hadn't been in place until about ten years ago however, making Ivan's procedure perfectly fine at the time if not a bit risky.  
After a minute of silently bashing the system Arthur returned to Toris and Ivan, sobered by this new information. "I assume that whatever you want changed is something that took place prior to this block?" Toris nodded. "And I'll bet it's got something to do with his family, doesn't it? His real family, not you." Again he gave a nod, looking as if he'd been trodden upon by Arthur's words. "What is it that you'd like me to change anyway? You haven't said that yet…" The doctor moved in closer, looking Ivan over as if he were a near perfect specimen of meat and he were a cook looking for some imperfection- which was an ironic comparison, seeing as the doctor couldn't cook to save his life.  
"I… I-I want him to think that he didn't like his family…" Toris whispered. Tears glistened in his eyes. "H-he asked about them sometimes… drew pictures of them, thought about them, it hurt him, I know it did… I told him that he couldn't see them. It took ages to get him off it, and he was crushed when he decided to believe me, but it took me too long to realize what he'd done next… h-he's built a sort of made-up family in his head. He tells me about them. Th-there's him, his parents, and he's got two sisters, children, and… a-a wife…" Toris shuddered. Arthur watched him, eyes narrowed, and went back to the packet. He flipped through the stacks of drawings until he reached a family portrait. His 'wife' had emerald green eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and stood a good deal shorter than Ivan himself. Arthur gave a sigh.  
"You're his 'wife' then, aren't you?" he asked. "That's why you want this stopped, is it? You don't want to play that roll." Toris shook his lowered head. Arthur sat back a moment, letting his eyes slip shut as he went over this new information. Toris wanted Ivan's memory changed for his own good, not Ivan's. That had to be one of the worst things Arthur had ever heard; being selfish with someone else's memories was even worse in his eyes than being unwise with one's own. "And you think that if he didn't like his old family, then it will make it so that he won't have made up this one? That you can go back to being his caretaker or brother or whatever role in his life you've cast yourself into?" Toris nodded, slowly looking up.  
"Y-yes… I-I'd like to go back to being like his caretaker, I suppose, n-nothing more. Can you do that?" he asked hopefully. Arthur stared down at him, taking a long, slow breath and allowing himself a heavy sigh.  
"It will take a miracle for everything to go properly…" he muttered, crossing his arms. Toris's face fell, his gaze returning to the floor. "…lucky for you, Toris, I happen to be a miracle worker." He let his words sink in for a moment. When Toris had processed them he looked up, eyes sparkling hopefully.  
"Y-you'll do it then?" he asked.  
"I'll do as much as I can. Memory blocks aren't difficult to remove, but they have a way of messing things up throughout the rest of the brain once taken out. If I take it out, it may corrupt his memory. Is that a risk you're willing to take Toris?" He stood up. Toris looked at a loss for words, as if the idea of such a thing had sent him into a much welcomed silence.  
"I…" he paused, took a breath, then sighed. "Y-yes… i-it's well worth the risk…" he mumbled. Arthur's eyes narrowed disapprovingly.  
"Very well then. May I ask you to leave the room while I work?" he asked, already helping Toris up before he could reply. He didn't allow Toris the chance to say no; by the time he could have, he was outside of the office. Ivan was watching, a little frown across his face.  
"Why does Toris have to leave…?" he asked quietly, sitting up. Arthur looked back at him, putting on a smile for the poor man.  
"Oh, it's nothing dear, don't worry about it…" he went to his desk, digging around in the drawer until he found the same little pills he always used; one red, one white. He handed them to Ivan. "Now just swallow these, and I can take a look at what's going on inside that brilliant mind of yours." He took a seat, but Ivan didn't swallow his pills. His violet eyes fixed on Arthur worriedly.  
"Will my friends still be here when I wake up?" he asked, gesturing around him. For half a second Arthur thought to ask what he meant but, thinking a moment, stopped himself.  
"Of course dear, I don't see why they wouldn't be. They'll be waiting right here for you when you wake up." He nudged Ivan's hand. "Now then, just take those and I can begin." The man still stared, wondering, but popped them into his mouth and laid back on the couch. He fought to keep his eyes open as the drugs started to take their affect on him, mumbling to some unseen presence. "Don't fight it dear, they're going to help you sleep."  
"Th-they don't want me to…" he started, but was cut off by the grip of sleep. Arthur sighed, taking a little hairpin and pinning his bangs aside.  
"You poor dear…" he murmured. "Trapped inside that wonderful little fantasy world of yours. I almost wish I didn't have to take it from you when it makes you so happy…" With those final words he braced his palm against Ivan's forehead, gently pressing it through and into his mind.

The inner workings of Ivan's mind appeared very different than that of Alfred's. The corridor- or rather, the sort of path that the memories followed- stretched further, twisting and turning. It was also darker, quite literally, as if someone had dimmed the lights with the hopes of creating some calming affect. No such luck, however, and the poor Russian's mind remained in a sort of turmoil. The memories were all intact and appeared to be usable, but they were… off, somehow. Something didn't look quite right. Was this perhaps, thought Arthur, the effects of mental illness on a person's memories? He pressed his hand to one but quickly drew it away; Ivan's memories lacked the usual warmth that resonated from a thought or idea. Instead his were cold, and without the usual sort of ripple affect that helped the surgeon into his thoughts. Rather than tugging at his hand the memory gently lapped at it, as if he were sticking his hand into a morning swimming pool before the wind came around and tousled it with little waves.  
"Not good, not good at all…" he mumbled, withdrawing his hand again. He continued on al little ways until he reached a point where the memories seemed to stop. In what appeared to be the very oldest one Ivan had there was an image of a bright light, with someone who looked like they could have been a memory surgeon as well. They held a small black object in their hand; a memory block shell. This was when it had happened.  
"Absolutely disgusting…" Arthur wanted to spit at the memory. The nerve of putting a block on a child so young, it was practically a death sentence. He straightened up and reached into the void where Ivan's memories seemed to stop. It stopped, as if there was an invisible wall of sorts blocking him from going on. Or rather, a block; the memory block. He felt around until a light appeared from nowhere. With it came a soft buzzing sound, and a distorted female voice  
"DiseNGage MeMOry BloCK?" it read. Arthur sighed, pressing against the light.  
"Yes, disengage." He replied solemnly. The light faded. The seemingly invisible block crumpled and folded itself in, not unlike self-folding origami paper. When it was no bigger than a computer mouse Arthur picked it up and pocketed it. The corridor reappeared, as did the rest of Ivan's memories. He proceeded down the corridor a little ways and stopped at one memory that shined particularly brightly. Something happy, it seemed. He pressed a hand against it with a little sigh. It felt like it tried so hard to be warm, heat flickering around his fingertips as the liquid surface clung to his hand in an attempt to bring him in.  
"Very well, I'll start here…" he mumbled, stepping into the memory.  
The scene changed. The memory was very weak, but it seemed to try its hardest to bring to life the images that had once been seen through Ivan's eyes; Arthur found himself dropped into a sitting room of sorts. A plushy crimson-colored rug cushioned his feet. In one corner of the circular room a fire crackled, its dim glow lighting the back of two large dogs. One dog was a crisp white, its long, fluffy fur and tail resting against the second dog, an ebony black cross between what looked like a Husky and a Doberman. Arthur chuckled, letting his gaze wander the rest of the room. Aside from a few candles elegantly scattered about the room, the fireplace was the only thing lighting the room. A loveseat stood just at the edge of the circular rug, and on it sat two beautiful adults, a man and a woman. Both had clear blue eyes and hair the color of lemon chiffon, which was also one of a few desserts set on a small table in front of them. To their right was a rounded wall of windows and in front of it stood the most beautiful Christmas tree that Arthur had ever laid eyes on. Strings of popcorn decorated its boughs, as well as little spheres of red and gold and silver that matched the numerous wrapped presents that it hid under its lowest branches.  
The surgeon was tempted to simply enjoy the room himself a short time before remembering why he was there. In the very center of the carpet, holding a particularly large present was Ivan. He was a fraction of his current size. His platinum blonde hair was cut neatly back to that his bangs rested just at his eyebrows. In the back of his mind Arthur realized that it was the first time he was seeing Ivan's hands because the straight jacket had been covering them before. The little boy was eagerly tearing away the paper. Arthur could feel his excitement and curiosity and wonder as he pulled out a large wooden box, with rounded corners and a sleek black paint job. It would have been about the same size as Ivan were he to lay down on the floor next to it. He pried the lid off of the box, peered inside, and gasped softly, clapping his hands madly and giggling, running to hug his parents. He wrapped his stubby arms around his mother's leg, which she replied with by gently patting him on the head.  
"Well Ivan, what is it you've got here?" Arthur asked rhetorically, taking a peek into the box himself. The joking little smile that had been playing on his lips just moments before disappeared. Inside lay the form of a child, a little girl. Her eyes were closed, her pale lips fixed in a permanent frown. Her cheeks were the only place her skin wasn't porcelain while, rather a soft rosy hue in small circles. Ash-blonde hair framed her face and lay to its sides, brushed back neatly behind her. Her hands rested on top of a navy blue and white striped ribbon that ran across her middle, dividing her dress into top and bottom halves; a puffy-sleeves blouse and a long skirt that laid at her ankles, just above a pair of dainty shoes. Ivan scooped her up from the box and hugged her and her eyes flicked open, a soft blue-violet not so unlike his. Arthur let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. A doll, that's all she was. A beautiful, lifelike doll. Arthur blinked a few times, trying to get the other thoughts out of his head. Of course it was a doll, what parent would give their child a body, no matter how pretty? Then again, why did they give the little boy such a nice doll when he was no older than six years old? Hardly an age to appreciate such a thing, Arthur thought. Ivan heartily thanked both of his parents before dashing out of the room, carrying his gift as if it were his bride. Arthur followed him up a long set of stairs and along a seemingly endless hallway, all of it still coated in the same deep red carpeting. He seemed to struggle reaching the doorknob on his own and, thinking it alright, Arthur gave him a little bit of help. Ivan giggled and ran in, trailed closely by the surgeon. That was, at least, until Arthur entered the room.  
He wasn't sure whether or not to be afraid. Monstrous creatures loomed overhead and over the tiny Ivan, but he hardly seemed to mind them. He even greeted them with little waves and things, laughing happily as he set his new doll on the floor at the foot of his bed. He knelt before her, touching one finger to the tip of her dainty nose.  
"Your name will be Natalia, and you will be my little sister!" he stated as if it were fact. Without hesitation, and to Arthur's shock, the little doll came to life, standing by Ivan and watching him with her blue eyes. She said nothing but nodded in conformation, and with that Ivan began introducing her to the other creatures, all of whom had names so complex or long that Arthur didn't bother to remember them, save for the last one; Katyusha, another girl he introduced as his elder sister.  
"So, that's what Toris meant then…" Arthur murmured, his eyes meeting those of every one of the terrible creatures. "He's built himself this strange little world of friends and animals, the creatures he sees that no-one else does. A land within his head in which he cannot be judged for his abnormalities, nor can they be separated from the world beyond his vision, this odd plane of imagination…" When the hell had Arthur become such a poet? He shrugged to himself, watching Ivan. The little boy was looking at him now, smiling.  
"And what's your name?" he asked, pointing straight at him. Arthur froze up, blinking a few times to make sure he was seeing things right.  
"Can you… see me…?" He stared at Ivan incredulously.  
"Yes!"  
"Bu… b-but that's impossible, I-I'm not even here. Y-you shouldn't be able to see me, I-" he stopped. The creatures and monsters were all staring at him, including Ivan himself and his two 'sisters'. Arthur looked around them, cleared his throat, then stiffened up. "Ah… m-my name is Arthur…?" With those words Ivan's smile returned.  
"Hello Arthur, I am Ivan. Would you like to be my friend?" The boy extended a hand to him. Arthur's eyes fixed on it warily.  
"I… I'm sorry dear, I can't, I… I should go." He withdrew himself from Ivan's memory, just slowly enough to watch surprise appear in his eyes as one of his imaginary friends turned down his offer of friendship.  
Arthur rushed years forward when he'd left Ivan's childhood. That wasn't supposed to happen. Nobody had ever seen him, nobody was supposed to see him. He was supposed to be invisible to the eye of those whose memories he went into, and yet Ivan had not only seen him, he'd spoken to him, as if he were a part of the memory itself. He had heard that the memories of the mentally ill were a bit odd, but he had never thought that it would be anything like that. He stopped only when things looked safe, as if he expected one of Ivan's monsters to be following him. He picked the next happy looking memory he reached, one that looked like it was somewhere around the age of eleven, climbing into it as he had the previous one.  
It was a very different scene from the first memory. For starters, he was no longer in the beautiful house, rather in a dank little cell with cement walls and floor and a ceiling he couldn't see because it was too dark, or perhaps Ivan just didn't look up much. Said Russian man was sitting against the wall, his little straight jacket in place although lacking the nice little bow tie he'd had on in Arthur's office. He and a few of his imaginary friends seemed to be having a little tea party of sorts. He couldn't reach the cups though what with his hands being tied behind his back, but he was laughing a little. In Arthur's eyes is was most important that the young man enjoyed himself. He caught the boy looking at him again and he froze up.  
"Ah, Arthur is back!" Ivan sat up. He stated it as if it were no more unusual than the return of a stray cat to a home that fed it. "You have come for the party, yes? Do not worry, there is plenty for you, more than enough to share." He scooted over a little and nodded at a spot on the floor next to him. Arthur stared, then forced a smile and a little chuckle.  
"No dear, I, eh… i-isn't this a bit of a drab place for a party…?" he asked. He had to figure out what exactly was going on before he could right it. Ivan gave him an odd look and shook his head.  
"Not at all. I have been here for many, many nights, it is very comfortable once you get used to it. Come, sit." Again he gestured to the space on the floor next to him, more forcefully than before. Arthur hesitantly obliged him, glancing around the table at the odd array of creatures. There were several of them, and they ranged from Natalia, the little girl from before, to the other sister whose name was hard to pronounce, to something that looked like a cross between a bear and a lioness. One thing did strike Arthur as especially interesting though; the two sisters looked older than they had before. Katyusha, the elder sister, looked at least two or three years older than Ivan. She sat at his side with a happy smile across her plump, rosy lips, occasionally raising to them an invisible teacup from which she would take an imaginary sip. The second sister on the other hand, Natalia, sat at Ivan's other side, scowling at Arthur and making a face whenever her 'brother' wasn't looking. Arthur immediately decided that he didn't like Natalia.  
"So, erm, Ivan… what exactly is this place…?" he asked.  
"This place is our home Arthur." Ivan chuckled. "It is beautiful on the outside. It had big white brick walls and pretty flowers that go up the little path to it. But I am only going to stay here until mama and daddy return for me, that is all." He grinned, sipping from his own imaginary cup. "And I know they will return soon. I have heard the matrons say that I will be leaving this place very soon. It will be wonderful, yes?" he giggled to himself, and his elder sister giggled with him. Yes, that settled it, Arthur was now afraid of all three of the siblings, in addition to the other creatures in the room. He was genuinely afraid of Ivan's mind. He'd been into the minds of murderers, rapists, politicians, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this one young man's so far.  
"Ivan, when was the last time you saw your parents…?" Arthur asked, unconsciously settling his hands around an invisible teacup just so that he wouldn't feel so out of place. Ivan looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes drifting off into the far ceiling corners of the room until he seemed to realize that he couldn't answer Arthur's question.  
"I…" he frowned, rubbing his head. "I… I don't… th-they'll be here soon…"  
"Ivan, sweetie, that doesn't answer my question." Arthur sighed. "When was the last time you saw them Ivan? With your own two eyes. Have they ever come here to see you? Do you even remember what they look like?" All sets of imaginary eyes had turned to Ivan. The boy stared at Arthur, the invisible cup dropping from his hand with a very real crash.  
"Wh… wh-what are you s-saying Arthur?" he asked, his violet eyes wide. His friends had all disappeared. He and Arthur were alone. Arthur reached forward and gently set a hand on the boy's shoulder, giving a little sigh.  
"Ivan, dear… they aren't coming back…" said the surgeon. "I know it's difficult to swallow, my parents were the same way to me, but… it's going to be okay, I promise—oh, sweetie, please don't cry." He bit his lip, brushing tears from the little boy's violet eyes. God, he felt awful now. What had he done? This was the worst surgery he'd ever performed. "Things will get better dear, y-you've just got to be patient… y-you'll have new parents some day. Wonderful, wonderful parents, and they'll love you so very much…"  
"I-I will…?" Ivan sniffled, looking up at him. Arthur was about to assure him that he would until he realized what he was saying. He was making things worse. This was the exact opposite of what Toris wanted him to do. Still, he couldn't exactly lie to the boy, things were going to get better at Toris's house, weren't they?  
"Yes Ivan… I've got to go now, but you just be a good boy and I promise, everything will be okay someday…" he whispered. Ivan stared at him for a moment, rubbing his eyes on his shoulder. Arthur paused a moment, then leaned in to give Ivan a little hug before withdrawing himself from the memory. He felt awful. He was ruining the poor boy. He sped on, looking for something, anything else he could do. More happy memories popped up as Toris started to appear- so he hadn't been entirely wrong in promising that things would get better, they certainly seemed to- but he decided he couldn't use them. Finally he picked one that was no more than a few years before the present date.  
Ivan was sitting in what could have been his bedroom were he still a small child and not a man of at least twenty-eight. The room was both adorable and an absolute horror; there was special furniture that had been made for Ivan's size, including one of those amazing beds made to look like a sailboat with the mast and a little flag and everything. And it wasn't just adult sized, it was Ivan sized, which meant the length of an adult and perhaps a small child. If there was anything that this room proved to Arthur, it was that it most certainly was possible to find such a thing at his age and that he would be doing a bit of searching to find out where he could get his own.  
Aside from the beautiful, gorgeous sailboat bed, most of the furniture was still childish enough. The room was lavishly decorated with oversized stuffed animals, an enormous dollhouse that could probably fit a baby in one of its larger rooms. Ivan currently sat as a primary-colored coloring table with a big cup of crayons in the middle, taunting Arthur with their impossible colors of every shade of the rainbow and even some in-between.  
Arthur looked over Ivan's shoulder at the drawing. It looked to be a first draft of his family. Other similar drawings littered the floor, some of the childishly drawn family portraits, some of just a man or a woman, and some that were the most beautiful crayon-created masterpieces that he'd ever seen- likely the work of Toris based on the small signature at the bottom of each one. Ivan seemed to like the one he currently worked on. It was the same drawing he'd stapled into Toris's information packet, featuring him as the wife. Arthur frowned, freezing the memory. Ivan's hand stopped before it got another chance to touch the paper with its perfect blend of scarlet and razzmatazz. He pressed a finger to the page where Toris was, glancing at the other characters. He needed to switch him with someone else, someone Ivan wouldn't notice immediately. He couldn't use his mother or father, that would be too obvious. His elder sister was a bit too… well too old for him, frankly. Natalia on the other hand wasn't too much younger, as far as looks went. Likely no more than a year or so physically. He swapped hers and Toris's places. She would be his wife, and after a bit of crayon work Arthur made it so that Toris was simply marked 'family' rather than 'sister'. He was about to go when he noticed a piece of perfectly blank paper still sitting on the table. There was only one left, and Ivan would probably use it on another one of his silly crayon doodles or in re-drawing the family. He could hide it, thought the surgeon, but it was such a waste of perfectly good paper, and there we so many lovely crayons just asking to be used for a proper piece, that Arthur couldn't resist himself. He took it, and a few dozen crayons, and started a portrait of Ivan. He had to draw something, who knew if he would ever have this many crayons on hand again?  
His own drawing ended up being little more than a sketch with flat coloring, a little shading around the hair and ears and Ivan's rather prominent nose. He jotted a little note at the bottom before withdrawing himself from the memory and, following it, Ivan's mind;

I told you things would get better. Never change Ivan.  
~Arthur.

"S-so, once he's out of that little daze, he won't remember being here?"  
"He shouldn't." Arthur replied, trying not to look as if he cared too much. He was still displeased with Toris for his decision to get Ivan a memory surgery for his own purposes, but the deed was done now, and it was out of his hands. "You may have to bring him back if he shows any further signs of mental instability. Until then, I would like for you to take your leave, mister Toris."  
"O-of course…" Toris murmured, clutching Ivan's trembling hand between his own two. Perhaps if he hadn't done anything Ivan would be warmer towards him, more accepting of the little gesture, or perhaps it was just the drug-induced haze he was still in that kept him from reacting to any of what they said in any way at all. But who knew. He tugged at Ivan's arm and led him out of the little office.  
"Oh, don't forget your straight jacket." Called Arthur, draping it over his arm and running to give it to him. "Wouldn't want you to forget this…" he turned to Ivan. "And you be good for Toris, alright Ivan?" The violet-eyed man looked at him, blinking a few times.  
"Arthur is not coming with us…?" he asked, his voice high and soft. Arthur sighed and shook his head.  
"I'm afraid I simply have to stay here dear, I'm needed here. But If I'm not mistaken, you've got family waiting for you at home, haven't you?" he chuckled. "A wonderful family indeed…" Ivan smiled a little and nodded, following Toris out. The brunet frowned at Arthur questioningly but the surgeon simply ushered them out, shutting the door behind them with a little sigh and locking it the moment their voices faded away. For a short time he stood there just inside the door, listening for signs of life, before he slowly crossed his office. One hand inevitably found its way into his pocket to search for the little brass lighter he held so dearly. With a cigarette between his lips he gazed out at the city below him, a small tendril of smoke rising into his view after a few moments. Minutes later he saw Ivan and Toris on the ground floor, attracting the eyes of passers-by and ignoring them all the same.  
"How sweet…" Arthur mumbled, blowing a puff of smoke. "I do envy that young man though… wish I had a family…"


	3. Francis

Chapter 3.2

There were plenty of things in the world that disgusted Arthur. Smoker's lung wasn't one of them, and it was a good thing for him considering the number of cigarettes he went through in a week. No, most of them involved other people. It absolutely appalled him that in their day and age that there were still things like war going on. They were all humans- or at least most of them were- and there had been so many 'World Peace' campaigns in the past few years, and yet none of them were working. Every time he thought about it he was thankful for the way he was born, so that he wouldn't have to go be gunned down over whatever the issue of the day was, he didn't even know anymore.

He only happened to be thinking of this because of the man sitting in his office waiting room. He wasn't a very big man, rather thin actually. He was a bit taller than Arthur- not a difficult feat to accomplish really- with buttery golden hair that sat on his shoulder, the tips dyed a soft violet that faded as it moved up, like a gradient. At least it did on one side. The man had one of those weird-ass east side hairstyles where half of one's head was shaved and the other side was styled with some ridiculous combination of curls and tails. This man's consisted entirely of little tails, 'foxtails' as they were called. Arthur himself couldn't understand how anyone found it even the least bit attractive, but he wasn't one to judge. At least he liked to pretend that he wasn't. Aside from the man's appearance, however, he couldn't gather much from where he was standing. Hiding rather, considering the fact that he and his dear secretary were whispering at each other behind her desk and staring at him.

"Doctor Kirkland, you're an idiot if you let that man into your office!" she hissed.

"Denise dear, please, he's completely harmless as long as he's here. You know what I can do if he tries anything."

"Perhaps you weren't listening _Doc_." She scowled at him. Arthur cringed hearing the little nickname that he so loathed. "That guy looks dangerous! He's obviously here from the east side, and there's lots of memory surgeons over there-"

"Denise." He cut her off. "In case you've forgotten, I don't exactly have to ask for your permission. Now set this man up with the proper paperwork, I'll be waiting in my office. Don't you dare turn him away." And with that he set back off to his office, leaving a seething and sputtering secretary in his wake.

He lounged into his office chair and watched them through the screen. The blond man was talking with her, making odd hand gestures while she rolled her eyes and tried to keep from yelling at him. Strange, he thought, but entertaining nonetheless. It was part of why he never bothered to fire Denise, it was such fun to watch her through his video camera when she struggled with something, she was so expressive in her anger. It took about ten minutes for this little display to grow old, by which time they had finished one of the small stack of papers. Arthur was on his second cigarette and growing bored. He dropped it into an ashtray and returned back down to the waiting room, arms crossed.

"Good god Denise, aren't you two done yet?" He asked, finding it hard to keep up a calm façade when her face was such a shade of red that she looked like a pomegranate with glasses. She growled, throwing her pen cup up in the air and letting a shower of writing utensils shower down upon the three before turning to Arthur. Her neatly manicured nails dug into his shirtfront as she yanked him closer.

"He doesn't speak English!" she growled, her teeth gritted together. Arthur quirked an eyebrow and let his gaze fall to the startled blond man.

"Is that all?" he muttered, prying off her fingers. "Goodness Denise, you should have called me down here earlier, I can sort this out." He took a seat on her desk and stared at the man, frowning a little. "Um, um, um… Deutsch? Or… don't tell me, let me guess, oh! Parlez-vous français?" he asked, crossing one leg over the other. The man perked up, staring at him. He nodded so that his hair bobbed up and down.

"Oui." He replied, clapping his hands together. Denise stared at Arthur, tugging him back.

"H-how did you do that?" she whispered. "I know you're a mind reader, but I didn't know you were _that_ kind of mind reader!" Arthur gave her a sarcastic glance.

"Denise, I know dozens of languages. I kind of need to for exactly this sort of thing. This is exactly why you could never do my job dear." He chuckled and offered the man a hand up, deciding that skipping over the paperwork just once couldn't hurt and it wouldn't do them much good anyway if the man couldn't understand what they were trying to get him to write and why. Once again Denise was left to stew in her rage, kicking something as soon as they were gone and making use of the little poster Arthur had given her to smack her head against the wall on- she'd been chipping the paint before. He sat the blond man down in the little therapist's couch and went to his desk, removing the usual little pills and taking a little earpiece.

"Now if you'll hold on just a moment, I can calibrate this to our languages so that we can do this properly…" he muttered, wheeling his chair over and clipping it onto the man's ear for him. Luckily he managed to get it on the shaved side where it wouldn't obstruct the device. The man blinked, looking at him oddly. "Can you understand now?" Arthur asked, grinning a little as the man's eyes went wide.

"Ah… I… y-yes." He murmured, feeling at the little thing on his ear.

"It's a translator dear. They aren't cheap though, so I would prefer that you _not touch that_." He reached forward and grabbed his hand, gently lowering it back to his side. "Now then, do you have a name?"

"Yes, yes, but how does this little thing wor-"

"_Name._"

"Francis." The man frowned a little.

"Nice to meet you Francis." Arthur smiled, handing him his clipboard with a piece of blank paper and telling him to write down as much as he could. "Now then, what is it that brings you here Francis? Looking to have something modified, digitized, removed…?"

"Oui, removed." Francis smiled up at him. "I want everything removed. I don't want to remember anything at all." The scratching of pen on paper became the only sound in the room. It took Francis a little while to notice this, and when he finally looked up he found Arthur staring at him with his little grin plastered across his lips, one eye twitching involuntarily.

"I'm sorry dear, could you repeat that?" he said softly. Francis blinked and stared at him for a moment.

"Ah… oui, I want everything removed. The artificial amnesia or whatever it is they call it. You can do that, can't you?" he frowned.

"Yes, that's what I thought you said." Arthur muttered. "Now, if you don't mind, let me answer that question with a question; are you insane?!" Francis blinked, looking taken aback. "Do you have any idea what it means to have every single thing removed? You must be an idiot… and a damn lucky one that I'm not the sort of man who just does things without explaining them, if I removed everything you wouldn't remember how to speak or walk or do anything." He crossed his arms, glaring at Francis. The Frenchman was simply gaping at him, wide eyed.

"Ah… I'm sorry, erm, but… i-isn't there some other way to do it? The memory wiping or something, amnesia, eh…" Arthur watched the man for a moment and then sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Francis, dear, what you're thinking of is a memory _block._ They're very, very different. Memory blocks only block non-vital memories, they're stored separately you see." Francis made a face like he understood, laying back in the couch and giving a little sigh.

"W-well then, I want that. Please, whatever it is that will make me forget my past, I… I-I don't want to remember anything."

"Why?"

"I-I beg your pardon?" Francis's head snapped up, his eyes fixed incredulously on the surgeon.

"Why do you need this done so badly? What's the big deal?" he asked, crossing his legs. There it was, he thought; that look of hesitation that came whenever anyone was asked what they wanted a block for, he hated it. It meant they weren't willing to tell him. It meant that it was something they thought was awful, bad enough at least that they couldn't explain themselves. Francis looked to be especially hesitant about telling him by the way he was squirming and twiddling his fingers.

"W-well, I…" He muttered, looking up at him. "Y-you'll see it when you go inside my head, won't you? L-let it explain itself…"

"Is it really so serious that you can't just tell me yourself?" he asked. Francis scowled at him in a way Arthur could have interpreted to be a threat to his bill and possibly his reputation, so he decided to let it go for now. "Alright, alright, I won't pry… here, take these." He handed him the pills. Francis nodded and swallowed them. Unlike most of Arthur's customers, however, he didn't have the sense to lay down, and ended up falling so that he fell off the couch entirely.

"Oh, honestly…" Arthur rolled his eyes, and then his chair over next to the couch to help him up. Something slid out of Francis's pocket as he did and he huffed a little sigh, letting him fall against the back of the couch before going to pick it up. It looked like a cellular phone. A really, really old one, the kind that east-siders were seldom caught dead with. It had a touch screen and sleek, silvery sides, and a little emblem engraved on its back. It couldn't have been much thinner than Arthur's own pinky finger. "How odd, I wonder what this is for…" he mumbled, fingering the device's single button. He gave it a press and glanced at Francis. The unconscious man suddenly sat with, rather than only half, his whole head covered with hair. They were the same ridiculous tails of hair at that. One hung down and covered his eye and, hastily brushing it aside, Arthur found it to be covering a little scar on his eyelid. The surgeon stared a moment, then chuckled.

"Well well…" he murmured to himself, letting the hair fall back in front of his eye. "If it isn't the famous 'fleur de cadavre'…" He never thought he'd get to see the renowned spy up-close. Everyone knew what he looked like, or at least what to look for, the man was like a rock star. It was a wonder that he could even pull off what he did but it was exactly the reason for his fame; he was a master of disguise. Arthur couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him sooner. "Odd though, why would a man like you want to erase all of that…" He stared a moment, taking in his features, then shrugging and placing a hand to his forehead. "Well, I suppose I'll get to find out."

Arthur found himself dropped into a rather pretty memory of a large house, no somewhere outside of their extensive city of Atros. France perhaps, everyone was speaking French, that was usually a pretty good indicator. Francis himself was exposed by his memory, a bit of gold hair showing through his façade of what appeared to be a young brunet with freckles flecked across his ruddy cheeks. His face looked a bit similar, but still quite different from the young man sitting in Arthur's office.

"My god, he is a master of disguise…" he muttered, following along behind him. It was dark out but the pathway up to the house was lit, tiny lamps lining it and going around the beautiful fountain in its center. Every single light inside the house was on, including whatever light illuminated the enormous central window above the front door. "I wish I'd been invited to this little shindig…" Arthur chuckled to himself. It looked to be a formal event though, and he had never been one for social interaction himself let alone any sort of _formal _social interaction, and god forbid he should actually have to act serious for once in his life.

Francis, on the other hand, seemed quite accustomed to the social environment himself. He handed a small piece of paper to someone at the door, presumably an invitation, before stepping in. Arthur jokingly gave the doorman a little wave and entered behind him, admiring the foyer. Whoever's house he was at must have had some serious money laying around. He only knew one person who could afford such a nice house in France of all places, but there was no way it could be his house. The man had been in hiding for years- and with good reason- there was no way he'd been throwing a huge party. He did recognize a number of other higher-ups who he believed to be under wraps themselves, including a number of older men he knew were behind the east side's memory services. He felt the corners of his lips being tugged down at the mere sight of them; they had tried numerous attempts to get him to join them before he'd moved to the west, and the more he turned them down the more desperate their attempts became. There were also a number of other memory surgeons there but he'd never cared to learn their names. They were far inferior to him, and he knew it. He relished the fact that he was better than them.

"Mademoiselle Romée!" Arthur looked up at the sound of Francis's voice. He was run-walking over to a pretty woman on the far side of the room, greeting her in the most French of ways; a kiss to each cheek. Arthur would never understand the gesture. In his world, kisses were used only as gestures of utmost affection.

"Wonderful to see you again Francis." The woman cooed, pulling him into a little hug. She was, to put it delicately, a bit on the larger side, her wide arms circling Francis's torso like a boa constrictor, and they might have been half as lethal with the way she was squeezing him. He laughed a little, strangled by lack of air, but didn't make her let go.

"Y-you as well Mademoiselle…" he coughed, prompting her to let go. "How is, ah… you-know-who?" With the mention of the mystery person the little woman giggled.

"Oh, she'll be along soon Francis, you'll see. She's been talking about you nonstop since that last little get-together, I don't know what it is that made you stick to her mind but whatever it was you did it well." The two laughed, and Arthur took a seat in an unoccupied chair nearby. Their small talk and formalities bored him, there had to be something interesting happening around somewhere. He let his eyes wander the room as the two chatted, eventually coming to rest on an ever-so-slightly curvaceous young woman who was making her way downstairs. It was mostly silky white and ran down past her ankles. He would have guessed that it were a wedding dress if it hadn't been for the rose red trim creeping up the edges like reverse bloodstains. She sported soft, curly, honey-golden hair that just barely brushed her neck in some places and kissed at her ears and cheeks in others. Her emerald-green eyes were fixed on Francis though, to Arthur's slight disappointment. Pretty girls like her were the reason he seldom regretted never getting married, and she didn't appear to be wearing a wedding ring herself. She slowed down when she was just behind him, paused, then jumped and cupped her hands around his eyes.

"Guess who~" she whispered, giggling as he reached up to place his hands over hers. He made a face like he was pretending to think about it, chewing his lip.

"Oh my, let me see, there are so many girls I know with pretty hands like these…"

"Hey!" She squeaked. Francis laughed and spun around to face her.

"Ah, mon amour, you know I'm only joking." He gently lowered her hands but still held one, pressing his lips to it. "You know that there never could be anyone else for me, there's not a woman in the world could take your place…" These words seemed to win back her favor because she dropped her fake pout, grinning brightly and leaning in to peck single kiss to his cheek. Even Arthur could tell that this kiss was more than a simple formality.

"It's so nice to see you again my dear…" she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Et toi Jeanne, et toi…" His arms snaked around her waist, and Arthur's eyes rolled off in any direction but theirs. God, he hated watching things like this. Francis was an international super spy for god's sake, he had to have some exciting adventures. Was it bad that he found himself getting angry over someone else's happiness? He shook his head and shrugged it off. He couldn't think of that right now, he had a client to take care of. His attention returned to Francis in time to notice that something else had caught his attention. He slowly relinquished his hold on Jeanne and promised her he'd be gone 'just a moment' before heading off, leaving her to pout a little at her mother's side. Arthur stood and followed Francis.

"Finally, some real action…" he muttered. Francis's little smile had vanished as he jogged across the room. He actually went all the way into another room, rummaging in his pockets before pulling out a more easternly cellular phone. His grin had turned to a scowl by the time he picked it up and shoved it to his ear.

"Oui, oui, I'm here already! I just got here!" he hissed to whoever was on the other line.

_"Well you don't have to be so rude about it Francis, we are paying you for this little job after all."_ Sounded a voice. Arthur could only assume it was the voice of whomever Francis was speaking with, unless there was in fact some disembodied voice that happened to inhabit the room they were in.

"I know that you're paying me! You always do—look, are you set up yet?" He frowned and glanced at a wall clock; it was just minutes until ten-thirty at night. "I've gone and set up my part, I'm in disguise and everything. Where am I to go now?"

_"Upstairs bedroom. As soon as the man of the house comes downstairs, you get to sneak up there, hack his desktop PC, get what we need. We planted a flash drive there earlier, all you need to do it grab it."_

"This seems a little simple of a job for something you insisted on having me for…" he commented.

_"You're the only one who got an invitation. Besides, this job does sound easy, but if you don't get what's on that computer then we're as good as sunk from this point. You? Me? Out of a job." _Francis rolled his eyes at what he thought to be a bit of an overstatement, but he held his tongue this time.

"Alright then, I'll get your little computer thing or whatever, just have a ride ready for me when I get down, I'm exhausted from just listening to you talk." He hung up without waiting for an answer, walking to the window of whatever room he'd wandered into. Arthur frowned a little to himself. He really didn't know what was going on, but he had a feeling he'd stumbled into something he wasn't supposed to.

"It's no wonder he wanted this all removed…" he muttered, glancing outside with him. The gardens were beautiful but dark, and he didn't care much for flowers. Francis didn't seem to care for the view either. A roar of applause rose from the room they'd just been in and the lights dimmed. The spy seemed to take this as his signal because, when the clapping reached its loudest, he flung open the window and hopped out. A thin bar of white ran along the edge of the house. Francis heaved himself onto it, shuffling along the edge. Arthur, however, was perfectly content to watch, waiting for the memory to carry him along to the upstairs room. He wasn't going to climb it, it could be dangerous. It looked dangerous. Within a minute or two he found himself in the same room as Francis again. The Frenchman was at someone's computer, fiddling with things. Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"For an international super spy you sure are dense…" he muttered. Surely even Francis knew what a flash drive was. Luckily he seemed to give up and grabbed it anyway, not seeming to know what it was but taking it regardless.

"I'll just tell them that this was all I could find…" Francis mumbled to himself, tucking the little object into his coat pocket. Arthur scoffed at his lack of knowledge. Then again, the surgeon himself was on computers constantly, synthesizing happiness and the like, as well as consuming a rather embarrassing amount of pornography. Francis took another thirty seconds or so to decide that there was nothing else he was supposed to take, by which point the clapping in the larger room had ceased and given way to a louder voice that talked over them, occasionally earning itself a wave of laughter. In the back of his mind Arthur almost wished he'd been invited to the party as well, but then he probably wouldn't have enjoyed himself. There were too many assholes at this party. Something in the walls rumbled and the two looked up, bits of plaster falling and hitting them on the face. Francis frowned and brushed it out of his hair, staring at the ceiling.

"That's not a good sign…" he mumbled, glancing outside. Nobody was in the garden. He ran back to the window and hopped out, climbing down until he reached the grassy path below and peering in a downstairs window. The mysterious voice was assuring his guests that the little shake was nothing to be afraid of. Francis, however, was not convinced. He started to reach for the cellular device in his pocket but something whizzed by his head. The splitting of a bit of fence nearby alerted both him and the surgeon that they were being shot at. Francis started to run, and Arthur ran with him. He'd never been in such a thrilling memory before what a rush this was, a wondrous change of pace from the usual ho-hum of trauma and heartbreak and depression. It was like being in an action movie where you know that the protagonist is going to live. While Arthur had been caught up in his thoughts Francis had pulled a pistol from seemingly nowhere, returning fire on the mysterious shooters. Arthur laughed a little when he caught sight of them; security men, one holding a small pack of dogs.

"Good god, I don't know why he'd ever want to erase a memory like this one, it's fantastic!" he laughed. Francis didn't seem nearly as into it as he was, smashing through yet another window and landing in the room that the strange voice inhabited. The room fell silent. Arthur could practically feel the eyes of everyone turning to Francis. The young woman who had been at his side not minutes ago was now staring at him, wide-eyed and confused.

"Francis?" she called softly, running to his side. "Francis, what are you-" she was cut off by a banging sound from behind her. A burst of red erupted through the front of her chest, straight through her chest where her heart was- or at least, most of it. A clean hole went right through her dress, torso, even a bit of bone in places. Her expression was one of shock, her eyes wide as they slowly turned to look down at the wound, then up at Francis. Her lips parted, as if to whisper his name, but she collapsed before she had the chance. Suddenly the lights in the room flicked off to protect the remaining onlookers from the scene that had unfolded. Whomever had been chasing Francis had weapons, high-power ones by the looks of Jeanne's wound. It still showed very faintly in Francis's memory. He was scooping her up in his arms and running with her body in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks as they ran, Arthur right behind them. By the time the lights came back on, he and Jeanne were long gone, and everyone was left to wonder what had happened to them.

Arthur soon found himself in another memory. Francis was stilling on a small, clean room, waiting in a cheap-looking chair with a large bouquet of assorted roses and a magazine that he clearly wasn't reading. The walls were sparsely covered with medical posters and modern art, and though nothing had been said yet Arthur could tell why Francis was there. He took a seat by him and waited, glancing at the pages of the magazine. They hadn't rendered. He wasn't even looking at them.

"Mister Bonnefoy?" The two looked up, Francis with tears in his eyes. He'd taken his usual blond appearance for this little excursion. He stood, giving the nurse a little nod. "The doctor says you can see her now. She's still unconscious, might be for a while, but you can at least come in and see her." Francis gave another nod and stepped into the room. Inside, surrounded by various medical devices, lay the young woman from before. Her skin was whiter than the sheets she laid in, her once sparkling eyes shut. Obvious tear streaks lined her cheeks. Francis sniffled at the sight, but took a seat by her bed anyway. He set the roses in a little vase, removing a lavender one and wrapping her pale fingers around it.

"Je t'aime Jeanne…" he whispered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. By the looks of the little table to his side he'd been here before; it was covered in dried-up rose petals and charcoal sketches on old pieces of paper, letters, a couple of small candy boxes, even a large stuffed bear that sat to one side of the table, awaiting the young woman's awakening so that it could comfort her in Francis's absence. The nurse who had brought Francis in now tapped him on the shoulder, and he reluctantly drew his eyes away.

"You're sure you want us to go through with this?" she asked, her voice softer than before. "You know what the risks are, and they may seem low, but there are so many things that have a chance of going wrong-"

"Non, it had to be this." He frowned. "You said it was the only thing that could help her at this point… sh-she has to live, she just has to…"

"Aside from the risks, it's still very expensive. You're sure you can afford such a thing sir?" These words caused Francis to hesitate, just for a moment. His eyes flicked to something in the magazine. Arthur stole a glance at it and notice that a particular advertisement had rendered, featuring a sort of wanted poster. The face of the person in the photo was somewhat unclear, but Arthur could tell that their head would be worth a lot of money.

"Oui, I can pay…" he murmured. "It will be no problem… In fact, it shouldn't take very long at all." He chuckled softly, glancing at Jeanne again. His expression was that of a man who cared not for what lay ahead of him so long as he got what he wanted, in this case her health. The nurse nodded and left them alone for a little while. Francis watched her go, then pulled his lover's body into a hug. "Do not worry my sweet, they'll fix you up in no time, no time at all… you just rest and feel better, and I'll come back. I'll always come back for you…" he kissed her cheek, a single tear rolling down his before he pulled away, standing and starting to leave the room.

Arthur grimly withdrew himself from Francis's memory. Well, he supposed he understood now why Francis wanted his memory taken away. The weight of death was one thing, but there were plenty of people who couldn't stand the guilt of murder on their shoulders, especially that done in cold blood. Sure, whoever Francis had killed had been a criminal if they were wanted for so much money, but Arthur could tell that Francis was no murderer. He'd done it to get money to save Jeanne- which he had, from what he could tell. The spy seemed to have left the hospital just after they'd started her treatment, but by the looks of it there was a pretty good chance she'd pull through. Whatever the thought of murder was doing to Francis, he must've thought it was bad enough to erase everything for.

"I can't erase her though…" he mumbled to himself. He couldn't, wouldn't erase Jeanne. Perhaps Francis hadn't thought things through; he wouldn't remember her, or anything else, and with her new handicap they wouldn't be able to do much even with each other's help. And even if it wasn't for their inability to take care of themselves for a while, Jeanne would still need at least a bit of Francis to get her by, the Francis _she_ knew, the least he could do was make sure that he would know her. He'd put the block in place and now watched the man laying before him, waiting for him to wake up.

"Do you remember your occupation?"

"Non…"

"Do you remember where you live?"

"Non…"

"Remember your name?"

"N-non…"

"Do you remember… Jeanne?" These words earned a pause from the Frenchman. He blinked, looking up.

"Y… yes… there is someone, someone called Jeanne, and I… I-I'm so very in love with her…" he murmured, staring at Arthur as if he'd suddenly gone mad. "H-how do you know Jeanne…?"

"I don't Francis. You do. I've been inside your mind." Arthur crossed his legs, giving the man a sympathetic smirk. "The reason you can't remember anything is because you asked me to take it all from you. You did something Francis, something you didn't ever want to think about doing ever again… but you told me, you begged me to make sure that you could remember her. You love her, and she loves you dear, more than anything." Francis nodded to show he understood the surgeon. "She's waiting for you at the hospital Francis-"

"Did she have a baby?" Arthur blinked and stared at him.

"She… no." He quirked an eyebrow. "She was… shot… you were getting money to help pay for her accident… maybe in the future she could be though, perhaps you should ask her about that." He chuckled. The innocence of a person fresh into a memory block was simply adorable, the little questions they asked and their lack of understanding of the world around them. Francis looked so disappointed in the fact that he wasn't going to be a father that he hardly listened to the bit about his lover being shot. "I can have you taken there, if you'd like that."

"I would, thank you." Francis glanced up, a little smile tugging at his lips. "Can we go now?"

"We? Oh, I won't be going with you Francis, but I can have my secretary drive you. She knows where to go." He laughed off the odd look Francis face him, then thought a moment. "Just don't talk to her and everything should be just fine." He added as an afterthought. Francis didn't seem to understand but he nodded anyway, standing up. Arthur stood with him and removed the little translating device, giving Denise a few instructions to give him when he arrived before sending them off. It wasn't until they were gone that he finally retired to his office for a smoke, gazing out the wide windows at the hazy skyline outside.

"I'd hate to be out there in this weather…" he muttered to himself. This was about as nice as it got these days though, he just didn't like going outside. Too many people, and for every person there were two idiots to fill his place. He caught a glimpse of Denise's car leaving their parking lot. He could practically see her cheeks still red with anger at the thought of playing chauffer to a man she hadn't even wanted to speak with. Arthur just rolled his eyes and sat back, gazing at the sky. "Lucky young man, Francis… going off to start a new life with a pretty young woman… I envy him…"


	4. Madeline

Chapter 4

Arthur huffed a little sigh through the breath plate of his motorcycle mask; he was exhausted. Not just exhausted, he felt as if someone had attempted to drown him in a bathtub full of acid and death after making him run a mile. There was absolutely nothing in the world he wanted more than to get home, except maybe to do so without having to ride his motorcycle all the way home. The streets of the Atros slums were always packed, especially in the district he was lucky enough to live in. The streets were always packed at this time of night, and this particular one didn't look to be an exception. Everyone drove small cars, having little to carry with them and, seeing as it was the drive home, it was usually just one or two people to a car. Arthur could squeeze between them with only minor difficulty but he chose not to. It would be dangerous when traffic started moving again. He let his eyes wander to the sidewalk, latching onto a familiar figure standing with her hat tipped against the rain. Her hair bunched behind her in a sort of loose bun, but it reached her shoulders. It was golden like honey, shimmering in the yellow light from the streetlamps and shop windows. Her shoulders and hips sat exactly parallel, swerving inward gracefully at her waist. He stared a moment, trying to steal a glance at her face underneath the brim of her hat.

"Miss Williams?" he called, steering his bike to the edge of the road. She looked up, walking to see him with a little frown on her lips. It was her, just as he'd thought, and she was even prettier in person; her lips were plump and red like a pair of cherries, and behind the wayward strands of hair sticking to her face he could make out violet-blue eyes scrutinizing his features. "Might I give you a ride?" he offered, patting the seat behind him. She seemed to stiffen under her coat.

"Ah… Desole, do I know you?" she asked, taking a tiny step away. Arthur removed his helmet. His own sandy blond hair was already disheveled by the helmet, and the rain was starting to matt it down. Even with his face now exposed she still didn't seem to recognize him, and she looked to be considering just walking away. He frowned, wracking his brain for something he could remind her of, when it hit him.

"Ah, of course, you never saw my face. I'm Arthur Kirkland." He grinned, holding out a hand to her. Her expression instantly shifted from suspicion to surprise.

"Doctor K-Kirkland?" She took another few steps forward, staring at him until she too realized that she'd never met him in person. "Ah, je suis desole, I-I did not recognize you…" Her cherry lips tugged up in a delicate smile. Arthur, filled with new courage, cleared his throat and drove his bike a little closer.

"You know, it's quite a ways to the residential district…" he started, hesitantly. Madeline stopped, watching him. "I could, erm… you know, give you a ride home or something… I was heading out to dinner myself." His eyes had drifted away from her as he spoke, his little courageous streak quickly fading and with it the urgency with which he'd wanted to speak to her just minutes ago. She giggled and leaned in so that they were at eye level.

"D-Doctor Kirkland, I couldn't possibly ask you to buy me dinner." She started. "And besides, I couldn't possibly impose myself on you, it would be so rude of me…"

"Then don't ask." She blinked, her smile disappearing. Arthur swore he felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and he almost wished he'd kept his helmet on. "I… i-it's no imposition, really. I don't mind it. I've got an extra helmet here." Not that he'd ever used it of course. He dug in the motorcycle's tiny trunk and removed the helmet, ebony black like his own with a white stripe going down its middle. She stared at it. Slowly she lifted one hand, letting it hover undecidedly between them. He watched her, putting on a friendly smile. "Consider it my treat?" he offered. Those words seemed to seal the deal; she accepted the helmet, snapping it on and taking a seat behind him. He chuckled and revved the engine, startling her into gripping his sides.

"Y-you'd better not run any lights or anything…" she mumbled. Arthur laughed and slid his own helmet back on.

"Of course not, not with a lady on board." He smirked, invisible under the shield of his helmet, although he couldn't really imagine her laughing at his little joke. When the truck in front of them drove off he revved the engine again before sending them speeding up the crowded road. The shops and restaurants whizzed by. Madeline was practically clinging to him at first, but as they reached a constant speed she started to peel herself away, watching the windows and neon sign blur away behind them. Arthur stole a glance at her every so often, speeding up or slowing down to see if she'd notice.

By the time they reached their destination, Madeline looked like she'd had enough motorcycle riding to last a lifetime. Arthur helped her off the bike, trying to keep his grin as she stumbled. She looked so happy to be on solid ground again that he feared she might bend down and kiss the sidewalk had he not whisked her into the restaurant quickly enough. The aroma of cooking food seemed to snap her from her daze. He watched her eyes go wide, scanning over the restaurant. The entryway was lifted above the rest of the restaurant, leading into a staircase down to the eating area. Booths lined the walls, and whatever space was left was packed with tables and chairs. The moment they stepped over the threshold a young woman approached them. Unnoticed by Madeline, Arthur spoke with her a moment and they were led to one of the booths. The tables were wide with a short platform erected down its middle, leaving just enough room for a plate at the edges.

"M-my word, this place looks so…" she murmured, still trying to soak it all in.

"Posh?" he suggested, noticing her gaze being attracted to the fish tank railing on the staircase.

"…expensive." She looked back to him, starting to undo the buttons on her coat. "A-are you sure that it's alright f-for me to join you at this place, D-Doctor Kirkland?" Her expression contorted in worry. Once she's slipped the now soaking wet coat of hers off he could see that, to his delight, she was wearing a pretty little dress underneath. It was all red, nearly matching the crimson leather seats of the booth, with a long black sleeved shirt coating her arms and covering up her neck. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, it's quite alright." He mumbled. "I come to this little place once or twice a week and order mounds of food so that I'll have leftovers to last me a while. I'm no good at cooking you see…" he chuckled, glancing at the menu printed onto the little platform. "Do you see anything you like? The menu is a little odd, I know, but I've tried about everything on it. I assure you, whatever it is you've got your heart set on will be delicious."

Madeline wasn't even looking at the menu. She was still shell-shocked by the place. It was bustling with activity, people carrying trays of foreign and very odd looking foods were running by, shouting at each other. She chewed her lip, her eyes finally fixing on something that was being served to a group at another table.

"Ah, Doctor Kirkland, wh-what are those things?" she whispered, nodding at them. "They look like some strange little rabbit things wrapped in onion skin…"

"Oh, you like those?" he chuckled. "It's not rabbit, it's duck. I think it's wrapped in a husk of some sort, would you like to try it? Like I said, everything is delicious." He crossed his legs under the table. Madeline's nose wrinkled, but she shrugged.

"I suppose… oh, who am I kidding, I d-don't know anything about th-this food. You order Doctor Kirkland, j-just get me whatever you're having." She decided. He snickered inwardly.

"If you say so. Don't look so down Miss Williams, let's make this a happy occasion. You are getting a free meal out of this after all." He thought a moment, then smiled. "How is Alfred doing? Good, I hope?" While he didn't usually think of his patients after their treatment, it always interested him to know how they were doing, especially one as successful as Alfred. The mention of her dear son seemed to perk the young woman right up.

"Oh, he's been wonderful!" she started. "I haven't seen him with a black eye in weeks. He's made three friends that I know of, he's been going out more, his grades have gone up, and he's gained five kilograms." Madeline was beaming proudly. "I think he's going to try out for the basketball team next week as well."

"That's wonderful Miss Williams. Perhaps you can take him our leftovers and he'll gain another one overnight." He said jokingly. She didn't take to this joke so well, thinking that it meant the food would have a lot of fat in it, but she tried not to think about it too hard.

"Yes… that reminds me, are w-we supposed to have some sort of s-second appointment coming up?" she asked. "I've heard that there is supposed t-to be one, b-but you never called or anything…"

"You didn't give me a number to call you at ma'am."

"Oh, didn't I?" she frowned, digging through her bag for a bit of paper. "I could have sword I had f-filled it out somewhere, give me a moment…" she scribbled her cellphone number down and handed it to him. He took it, a little smirk playing across his lips.

"Thank you Miss Williams." He chuckled, tucking it into his pocket. "I'll be sure to call you the first opportunity I get. Although, this is your personal number, is it not?" he asked. She blinked, about to ask what he was implying but stopping herself.

"Th-that's my business number. Don't call unless it's about Alfred…" she muttered, casting her eyes down indignantly.

"Oh, don't worry Miss Williams, I'm only teasing." He grinned at her. "Do relax a little ma'am, you look so tense. If I didn't know any better I'd almost think you don't want to be here at all." He was almost sure she didn't, and he could see that she wasn't exactly going to deny that she would rather be at home, cooking something for herself and dear little Alfred. "Let's shift the topic away from business, shall we? It's far too late in the day for that… how have you been since Alfred's treatment? He's treating you well enough I hope, coming home on time, being respectful and all that? No drastic changes in personality?" he asked, hoping that his question's didn't contradict his proposal to change the subject too much. She shook her head.

"No, nothing too drastic… he's m-much happier, a-and so am I. I-I don't have to live in f-fear of the fact that he'd throwing up e-everything he eats anymore… oh, h-he's not as m-mouthy either, hardly ever t-talks back. That's such a plus for me." She smiled. "I-I do believe that you must be some sort of angel, Doctor K-Kirkland, with the g-good you've done him. I-I wonder though, what s-sorts of side effects are common f-for this sort of thing, anything I should look for?" Her eyes met his again, more serious than before. Arthur's joking little grin faded, and he chewed his lip thoughtfully.

"Oh goodness Miss Williams, there are hundreds of things that have been known to go wrong… I highly doubt anything has in this case. Most of them are either immediate or painfully sarcastic, like improved daily life and relentless happiness, although I suppose the latter could be negative in some sense… if there aren't any clear sign of mental illness he should be fine. Have you noticed any random acts of violence or mutiny, odd drawings, reports of bodiless voices whispering secrets of lost civilizations to him in the night, anything like that?" he asked, completely serious. It seemed as if his questions had rather startled the poor woman, for she stared at him now as if he were crazy.

"Uh… no… nothing at all like that…" she mumbled. "N-not that he's reported, at least… d-does those sorts of things a-actually happen…?"

"Oh, sometimes they do. Not often, it's literally one in a million, and there haven't been any reports of them in years… I don't believe it happens to anyone anymore, not really." He chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it Miss Williams, think of the bigger things. As long as there's no signs of mental illness of brain damage you should be fine, and everything went smoothly while I was performing my work so I believe he should be just fine." He assured. Madeline looked entirely unsure of what to say to him, but all the same she nodded, hoping that she would either learn to understand or not have to think about it anymore. The young woman from before returned, speaking to Arthur. He turned and talked to her for a minute or two, leaving an overwhelmed Madeline to try and sort out what it was they were saying to each other. By the time she caught up they were finished speaking. Arthur had ordered a few things from the menu on the table, as well as drinks for the both of them.

"Do you drink, Miss Williams?" he asked. "I ordered something for us, it's a sort of sweet tea with brandy in it. I hope you don't mind, it is only a small amount after all…" Again his words caused her to crinkle her nose in distaste, but she said not a word against him.

"Ah, n-no, that's fine, I suppose… if it's only a small amount it can't hurt…" She said so more to assure herself than him, wanting to believe that she would return home safe tonight. If all else failed she could always walk. Sure, they were a bit further from her home than she had been initially, and she would have to ride on that awful bike again later… perhaps it was best she just think of it later, when she could stand it better. She caught herself watching Arthur and realized that he had been talking directly to her and she hadn't been listening. "Ah, heh, I-I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked. Arthur snickered, resting his head on his hands.

"I asked you what you do for work." He repeated. The question was innocent enough in nature, nothing that would arouse her suspicion beyond the average friendly interest of a doctor.

"I'm a nurse, I work in a… sort of a special sort of hospital, for children who are more, erm, mentally challenged…?" she chuckled to herself. Arthur nodded slowly, letting her words sink in a few moments before bringing himself to make a comment.

"A mental hospital?" he asked, one eyebrow quirked. "Miss Williams, surely you know that there is no such thing in the western side. Everybody calls them 'asylums' down here dear. Don't look so surprised, surely you've heard it said before?

"Well, I.. y-yes, I have, of course I have, but… th-they don't like to call it that while we're there." She squirmed in her seat. Arthur just laughed a little and glanced up as two bowls of something that smelled hot and delicious were set in front of them. The surgeon unfolded his napkin and set it in his lap, glancing up at Madeline and expecting the same, but there were no such results. She was simply staring at her bowl, blinking in confusion. She finally looked up at Arthur.

"I thought we ordered something else…?" she whispered, her eyes momentarily wandering the restaurant. Arthur watched her a moment for some sign that she was kidding. She did not appear to be.

"My dear Miss Williams, this is but the first course of the meal." He replied, his face contorting with sympathy. "Surely you've eaten out before, haven't you? There's hardly ever just one part of the meal, that would be so unexciting…" He thought a moment, his eyes wandering the young woman before him- and rather tactlessly avoiding her bosom- before a grin cracked across his lips. "Miss Williams, you… were you raised on the east side? Or born there perhaps?" he asked. The poor woman was still so shocked at the idea of multiple parts of a meal that she almost forgot to answer his question.

"I… no, not to my knowledge. Why?" She frowned.

"No, you're joking." Arthur straightened up. He seemed to regard her with a new respect. "Surely a woman like you must have some history in the east side… did you ever work there?"

"Non."

"Have family there?"

"Non."

"Visit…?"

"_Non!_ Doctor Kirkland, I have never been to the east side." Her cheeks were as pink as the soft light that filled the restaurant. "I've never even so much as thought of going over to the east side…" A few long, silent moments followed, filled by nothing but the restaurant chatter and the soft slurp of Arthur openly enjoying his soup before he sat back up.

"Would you like to?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.

"Wh… wh-what?"

"Would you like to see the east side?" Where his impressed little smile had been was a mischievous grin. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "There are places in the wall where anyone can get through… they are a _huge_ secret, for people like me to get through in secret, but I suppose that just once I could make a little exception if you'd like to see the other side… I've been there before, it's so beautiful Miss Williams, you would love it." This time, Madeline didn't say anything for a while. She gaped at him, her own spoon falling from her hands at the offer. By the time she could force the words from her throat her soup had cooled, and Arthur was nearly done with his.

"…there are really places in the wall where you can get through…?" she murmured.

"Not to anyone's knowledge… they are a very strict secret, but I've got a feeling that you're not going to tell anyone… besides, I can erase any memory you have of where it is." He chuckled, and almost choked with laughter as the raised her hands to her head as if she thought it would protect her. How naïve.

"W-well…" She mumbled. The woman hesitated, and Arthur didn't blame her. It wasn't as if they wouldn't fit in with the way they were dressed. East-siders always dressed nicely, even for the littlest occasions, and Madeline was dressed nicer than most other people on the west side, it wasn't as if she would stick out.

"Not to rush your decision or anything, but this _is_ sort of a once in a lifetime chance…" he added. Madeline frowned at him.

"I suppose… just a little while on the east side couldn't hurt. After all, Alfred knows where the food is, he's probably either asleep or doing homework… Alright, I'll go. But no more than an hour, I have work tomorrow.

"I promise, we shouldn't be gone much longer than that Miss Williams." Arthur grinned to himself, raising his glass. She looked at it for a moment before doing the same with her own, clinking it to his.

"To newfound trust, and friendship." He stated, taking a sip. Madeline rolled her eyes.

"To your health and my wealth, as mom always used to say…" she muttered. She had only barely started her drink, taking a larger sip than she intended and ending up almost choking herself on it. It was only at this point that Arthur decided to order them water glasses as well.

"Ordering something now…?" Madeline gave him an odd look. "But, didn't you say you wanted to go to the east side…?" Arthur quirked an eyebrow at her, then laughed cooly and shook his head.

"My dear Miss Williams, it's as I said before. This is only the first course of the meal." He set his bowl aside. "Now eat up. The sooner you do, the more time you'll have to digest. There's plenty of food to come and I intend to share some of the leftovers with you."


	5. The West Side of the Wall

Chapter 5

As it had turned out, the hidden 'hole' in the wall wasn't very well hidden at all. In fact, it was left in plain sight just beside a quiet little deli. Madeline was actually rather disappointed when Arthur stopped the bike. At first she thought that perhaps he'd stopped for gas or something, until she realized that he wasn't coming back.

"Doctor Kirkland…?" she called, trotting up next to him and staring at the alleged opening in the wall. "I… I believe you may be mistaken… this is just an ordinary piece of wall. There's no hole or anything…"

"Oh, not so loud Miss Williams!" he hissed. "You want the whole neighborhood to know where we're going? I told you, this is a secret, now come over here…" He gestured to the little alleyway between the deli and the colossal wall. It was an awkward little space, narrow at the bottom where they stood but widening the higher the wall went because of its curved shape, believed to 'keep the riff raff put and the good, civilized people safe inside', as if anyone was actually stupid enough to try getting through by their own means. Arthur pressed himself against the wall, his hands sliding over its surface as if trying to pose him in the most awkward position possible. Madeline could only stand to watch him for a few moments before curiosity got the better of her.

"Doctor Kirkland, what on earth are you trying to do?" she muttered, standing at his side. He paid her little more than a sideways glance.

"Miss Williams, have you ever heard the phrase 'hidden in plain sight'?" He asked.

"Well of course, but I don't see what that has to do with-" she was cut off by a little cry of surprise from the surgeon, who was suddenly swallowed up by the wall itself. "Doctor Kirkland?" She called. There was no reply. She was suddenly alone, standing in some strange part of town without any means of getting to the safety of her own house without walking a good deal longer and likely asking for several sets of directions. "Doctor Kirkland?" she cried again, carefully approaching the wall. Her eyes fixed on the place where he'd vanished, a delicate ivory hand hesitantly reaching out to press against what she expected to be a cool, stone surface, when out of it popped the familiar hand of the young doctor himself. She shrieked in terror, thinking at first that the wall had spat it out after consuming the man whole, until she realized that it wasn't moving. The hand beckoned her with a little 'come hither' gesture. For half a second the idea of just running off crossed her mind, of attempting to make the long, long walk home in the only slightly lightened rain, but she dismissed it, placing her hand in that of Arthur's. It wrapped around hers and pulled her through the wall. She all but collapsed onto him, her eyes cast downward.

"Oh goodness, I'm sorry Miss Williams. I should have warned you, this wall is protected by a sort of hologram software. Can't even tell the difference when you look, but it blocks sound from this side you see, I—Miss Williams, are you alright? You look pale…" He straightened her up, brushing a bit of hair from her face and tucking it behind one ear. She blinked at this little gesture, snatching away the delicate strands and doing it herself.

"Y-yes, I'm fine, just a little startled is all…" she muttered, glancing around. They appeared to be inside a sort of tunnel. She could see light on the other side, as well as into the alleyway she had just been standing in. So it was something like a one-way mirror. Arthur had been able to see her, but she could not for the life of her see him. "Merde, warn me next time, will you?"

"Yes, yes, of course dear. Come on now, let's go see the east side. That is why we're here, isn't it?" He grinned and nodded in that direction. "Besides, it's raining on our side. You know what that means over here?" She didn't, of course. Arthur reached down and took her hands in his own, leading her through the tunnel. "The east side makes an effort to have everything look nice at all times. They've even got a sort of fashion police up in the richer section of town, it's pretty ridiculous…"

"You've been here before then, I take it…?" she muttered.

"Oh of course, lots of times. Like I said it's gorgeous, and when it rains on our side…" he trailed off as they reached the eastern side of the tunnel. Unlike where they'd come in light clouds hung low in the sky, tiny flakes of white drifting downward and landing against their cheeks. It piled up in the streets but only barely, and it covered the rooftops of every single one of the perfectly matching buildings.

"Snow…?" Madeline murmured, her indigo eyes wide and her grip on the surgeon's hands slightly tighter. "Th-they have snow on the east side? Real, honest-to-god snow?"

"Well, I wouldn't say 'honest to god', but… yes. It snows here. All the weather is artificial now, didn't you know? Oh no, of course you didn't…" he laughed a little, patting her hands and tugging her along. Her eyes were drawn to everything on the street, from the decorated street signs to the pretty storefronts to the chock-full shop windows that taunted them with beautiful things, though the stores themselves were closed at this hour. Every shop on the street they happened to be on was painted the same soft, delicate pink, with a pastel orange shingle roof and decorative windows with flower boxes on them. There were no flowers now, seeing as it was snowing, but they were still a sight to behold.

"Doctor Kirkland, this place is fantastic…" she whispered. He smiled at her.

"Ah, my dear Miss Williams, this isn't even the best of it. Come on, there are far prettier sights to see at night on the east side." He almost wished he'd brought his bike. The streets were nearly empty now, seeing as those on the east side went to bed fairly early. 'Beauty sleep' they called it, but he thought that a better word might be 'laziness'. "I know of an absolutely beautiful spot downtown, very pretty…" He was a little reluctant to go downtown. Not because of it being dangerous to be in a city at night, of course not, that kind of thing was strictly controlled in the east side. He didn't want Madeline being tempted off course by the wondrous luxuries of a richer standard of living. He led her by the hand down the cozy little streets, pointing out a particularly interesting little shop or attraction every so often.

The east side was, on the outside, a utopia. In fact, the utopian illusion went quite deep. The city was beautiful. The deeper into it the duo continued the brighter and bigger everything got. There were dozens of skyscrapers, maybe even hundreds, gleaming in the dim light. Everything was made of steel or chrome and featured plenty of reflective surfaces for the vain eastern people to spot-check themselves in. Standing at the ankles of the sky-scraping colossi of structures sat the small shops and on occasion something that looked like a subway entrance with an ornate novelty-sized lock on it. Arthur had to explain when Madeline took an interest in the lock that it would be best to steer clear of the place unless she wanted to see what madness lurked in the darker corners of the light-filled city. Naturally she was intrigued and asked to be told more, but he denied.

"Trust me Miss Williams, it's for our own good. Besides, you wouldn't be at all interested in what goes on down there, it's far beyond your comprehension…" he paused when he saw the look of shock that came across her face when he said that. "I don't mean to insult you. I hardly understand it myself, and I read minds for a living. Just trust me when I say you do _not_ want to see what kinds of things go on down there, please." He pet her hand and continued on.

"The more you say about it the more I'd like to know…" she muttered, watching the odd little underground entrance even once Arthur was long past it.

"My dear, please listen to me… and you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat." He chuckled. "Now then, like I said before, there's plenty of other fun things to see in the eastern side, and if you'll just let me show you you'll forget all about that silly underground—well, it doesn't matter what it was. There's a lovely little garden up ahead, you should see the flowers they've hybridized down there, absolutely gorgeous. Perhaps if we're very sneaky I can get you something while we're there, hm?" He asked, reaching for a hand that was no longer there. He stopped, shutting his eyes for a moment and putting a little smile across his lips

"Miss Williams my dear, I'm going to turn around in three seconds and if you aren't standing behind me I'm going to assume the worst. One…" He didn't even need to count any higher. He glanced back and found that, to no surprise of his, the woman was gone. He gave a heavy sigh and shook his head, starting back down the street. "Women, I swear, this is why I never married…" he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and putting on scowl colder than the wintry air swirling around him.

He had no idea how she'd gotten past the lock. It was heavy and ornate, hard enough for him to lift on his own without the handicap of Miss William's clearly inferior strength. She wouldn't even know to stick her hand into the keyhole to unlock it, flipping it off from the inside and showing the veins on her hand to the small scanner inside. And even if she did it wouldn't recognize the pattern in her hand as it did his. He had only one conclusion to draw from it; she'd followed someone else in.

The city's underground was, unexpected to Madeline, quite different from its surface counterpart. For one thing, it was dark. Not the same sort of dark as it was outside, with the moonlight that poured through the clouds gently illuminating everything it graced, the rickety staircase that led ever spiraling downward as if it were a metaphor for the state of the underground itself was pitch-black, dark except for a few decorative lanterns that hung on the wall by the entrance. When Madeline had descended all the way down the stairs- at least twenty feet underground by now, and exhausted from it- the found herself being swallowed up by a mob that filled a sort of room. No, it was larger than any room she'd been in, it couldn't be a single room. She looked up; Blue mosaic tiles covered the ceiling with light shining through as if to simulate a sky. Gold and yellow pieces of glass were scattered in as well creating the illusion of stars, and every so often a large cluster formed one of about eight stages of the moon. She had to keep walking because everyone around her was moving and she had been standing smack-dab in the middle of things, but she was still gaping up at the ceiling. It was a relief that she didn't take the time to look around, because if she had she might have seen the things that Arthur had warned her of; to her left, an indiscreet drug transaction went on between two men, one of whom had a strange creature sitting on his shoulder. To her right someone had constructed a sort of makeshift sex club, and someone else had been dumb enough to stand in the doorway with the door wide open. Children ran at the feet of their parents, many with strange mutations and defects. At least one of them had only a single eye, and a few had additional fingers, but there were some who had scaly green skin and broad toes like those of a turtle, and another who sat in a small fish tank because rather than two legs her lower body was like that of a shrimp, with dozens of little legs scrambling along the glass edge so that she might keep up with a game she played with the other children. However, Madeline didn't get the chance to see any of these things. She didn't even get the chance to glance around before someone- or something grabbed her by the arm and yanked her backward. She let out a startled little shriek but a second hand clapped over his mouth. They dragged her out of sight and towards the staircase, only peeling themselves away when they were safely out of sight. Staring down at her was a pair pf peridot green eyes, brows knitted with anger and cheeks fiery red enough to melt the snow into causing a flood.

"_Madeline!_" Hissed the surgeon, still gripping her upper arm tightly. "What in the hell do you think you're _doing_ down here?!"

"I-I just wanted to-"

"To what? Get yourself _killed?_" Arthur looked ready to tear her in half. "You should know better than to wander off into places like this, I told you it was dangerous! Just look at it! It's practically hell on earth." He gestured back into the broad hall as something exploded at the far end. Not a single person batted an eye. Madeline stared in shock and slight horror as the smoke drifted up to the beautiful ceiling and disappeared, no doubt into the air. "Come on, I'm taking you back home. For God's sake Miss Williams, I thought I could trust you with something like this…" he muttered, dragging her back up the stairs. It was still pitch-black outside when they came outside, the moon having hidden away behind a cloud and leaving the lighting up to a series of dim street lamps. Madeline followed after Arthur in a sort of daze, still barely believing that she was no longer in the strange underground marketplace. What had been so bad about it again? She hardly remembered. After all, she hadn't seen anything questionable.

"Miss Williams." Arthur chided, snapping her back to reality. In his hand he held what looked like two small candies, one red and one white. "Eat these, I beseech you… and, ah, goodnight dear." He added, scratching the back of his neck. She took the two little pills without question, falling victim to their effects the same way all of Arthur's patients did. He sighed and shook his head, rolling up his right sleeve. "Oh Miss Williams, you're such a pretty little fool…" he whispered, pressing his hand to the forehead of her now unconscious form.

Madeline didn't wake up for another hour or so. When she did, she found herself laying back-up and staring at the ceiling of her own apartment home. For a while she laid there, trying to recount the events of her evening. She and Doctor Kirkland had gone to dinner, she remembered that, and he'd offered to take her… somewhere. If she remembered correctly she'd declined in favor of coming home to check up on Alfred or something. She almost regretted it now too, it did sound like it would have been fun. She sat up slowly and rubbed her aching head. As she did, something fell from her chest to the floor. Her eyes followed it and she found it to be a piece of paper from the small pad adorning their refrigerator. She picked it up, blinking a few times and groping around for her glasses before reading;

_Dearest Miss Williams,_

_I regret to inform you that you passed out on the way back. I fear that perhaps riding a motorcycle is a bit too much for some people. All the same, I enjoyed our evening and I hope that you would like to do it again in the near future. Additionally, I'm scheduling an appointment for your son this upcoming week, making it exactly one month since his last one._

_Be seeing you,_

_~Arthur_

She chuckled to herself. "What an odd man that Doctor Kirkland is…" she murmured, tucking the note away. It was kind of him to drive her home at least, seeing as it was a bit of a drive from that restaurant to her home. She wasn't sure why, but she sort of couldn't wait to see him again. She stood and left the living room for her own bedroom, passing Alfred's on her way. He lay sprawled out on his bed, books and papers covering his chest and most of his bed where he wasn't sleeping. She chuckled and stepped into the room.

"Bon nuit Alfred…" she whispered, pecking a kiss to his forehead and turning out the lights.

Arthur stared into his coffee mug, watching the cream swirl on the surface until it gradually faded the entire drink into a delicious looking light brown color, like thick cocoa. He sighed and took a sip. Rivulets of water still dripped from his hair and down his cheeks, mingling indistinguishably with the little tears in his eyes. For a while he sat, staring blankly into his cup and occasionally giving a heavy sigh, wondering if Madeline was still asleep or not, before picking up his phone. It rang for a few moments, almost went to voicemail, and was interrupted by a cool feminine voice.

"Denise?" He started, setting his cup down and walking to the window. Rain water poured down it in small streams. "Yes, it's me. I know it's horrid of me to call you at this hour, but I don't think I can make it in tomorrow. Reschedule my appointments and take the day off. Go see your mother, it will do her some good." Without waiting for a reply he hung up, returning to his seat where the crackling fireplace waited to warm his feet. Damn that Madeline, making him perform another surgery. He'd already done two today, twice as many as was healthy, and here he'd gone and performed a third. He was exhausted. His temperature was up to 38˚C since he had arrived home, and he only barely made it to his bathroom in time to puke his guts up. He'd made himself comfortable with a book, a cup of coffee and a small plate of cookies. Sure it wasn't the best for his stomach, but he honestly could not care less if he tried. His thoughts were too busy being scattered and disorganized to focus on anything at the moment.

"Good God Madeline, this is your fault… you're lucky that Alfred's appointment isn't scheduled for tomorrow…" he muttered into his cup, although he wasn't mad at her, not really. He couldn't stay mad at her for being curious.

He could perhaps for her disobedience, but he was too tired to care for that right now.


End file.
